


Bite the Pillow

by Ealasaid



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-18
Updated: 2011-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-26 05:54:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ealasaid/pseuds/Ealasaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s fucking high-strung, but you can never seem to remember how much until you top him in the bedroom again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bite the Pillow

**Author's Note:**

> Also something written while drinking. Clearly I need the imagination boost.

You had him pinned to the bed, and your normally sophisticated vocabulary couldn’t really come up with a description for how it felt to have your viciously spiteful leader-cum-superior-cum-oldest friend-cum-comrade under your thumb and screaming at you. Slick was the undisputed leader of the Midnight Crew-- you didn’t care to lead, and never had-- your clone programming or whatever it was hadn’t glitched in that aspect. But you still liked power and liked lording it over others, and this was something like that.

He was stripped to the skin, as were you-- he fought until you hit the bed, and he’d managed to get your clothes off as you peeled him out of his. You usually didn’t fight too hard over the clothes because he was just as prone to ruin your suits in fits of spite as he was to not care about your state of undress and demand your attention irregardless of you own personal satisfaction. And now you held him down with one hand, leaning into a spot between his razor shoulder blades as you edged a knee between his thighs and hoisted his hips up off the bed.

“Better bite the pillow, Slick,” you murmur with fierce satisfaction you wouldn’t usually let show. “I’m going in dry.” 

He snarls something back at you, hands scrabbling against the sheets as he tries to push himself up against your hand-- but it’s just a sham. He jerks and hisses as you push in, making a high whining noise somewhere between amusement and true pain. You usually take care for him to be more prepared, and were this anyone else you would certainly be courteous enough to make it more comfortable, but today was not a good day for either of you and the added roughness fits the bill.

The whine changes into a groan as you find your hips flush with his and you can’t stop your own noise expressing the gasping breathlessness at the pressure and heat of your position. No matter how many times you do this, it never gets old, and you certainly have no idea how Slick can still manage to live with so much tension. He’s fucking high-strung, but you can never seem to remember how much until you top him in the bedroom again.

“Gonna... fucking move?” His voice is a challenge, even hoarse and halting.

“You’re such an asshole,” you manage, and rock in slowly. He chokes off a moan.

It doesn’t get any easier too move-- the friction is nearly unbearable-- but it becomes easier to tolerate. Each push in and drag out is an exhilarating rush as Slick half-screams foul language and you snarl things in foreign languages, loving how Slick hates it when he can’t understand you and hating how Slick purposefully butchers his sentences to irk your proper grammar tic. 

You keep up a tortuously slow pace even as he gets restless and attempts to meet you halfway in your thrusts. The truth is you can hardly stand anything faster-- like you said, it’s been a long day-- but you’ll be damned if you lose control now. Your weight on Slick’s back is slowly depriving him of air, you know, something that encourages the endorphins and makes it feel better for him, but you won’t help him any more than that.

The pressure builds, and you savor it. Reading Slick is easy, and you can see that he’s at the point where he’s getting off almost as much on the anticipation of a faster pace than at the actual physical sensations. The noises he makes don’t have the propulsion of pain anymore, they’re just noises that would be more appropriate in a church at the foot of some higher power that Slick would actually believe in. It makes your head spin, having him cease to struggle in delirious frustration while you take your time.

Your breath is coming more sharply, and you strive to ignore your increasing instincts to drop your deliberate speed. If anything, you slow down. “Almost there, Slick?” you ask, the threat of a challenge in your voice.

“Ffffffuck,” he gasps. “What do you think?”

You snap your hips in, a deliberate contrast to the pattern you’d set. He cries out incoherently, and you tighten your grip on his hip, dazedly marveling at how your fingers flex and dig into his skin. He’s got his legs spread wide, ass in the air as you slam into him again, encouraging you to do it harder and deeper.

“‘S’a pity,” you slur out. What your mind is spiraling off into, possible and impossible fantasies of having Slick sprawled out on your bed after hours of sex and cornering him in closets with him pinned against walls and forcing him on his knees in some tucked-away niche, makes you start to lose your grip on what’s going on right now and you are so, so close. Closer than Slick, you hope in some distant corner-- leaving him high and dry is another thing you dream to do-- but that’s not so. You’re trailing a hand down his back before reaching for his dick and within seconds he’s shuddering, clamping down as you move in him. You have enough time to think well, fuck, before you slam instinctively into him and shake uncontrollably as you come so hard everything whites out for a few moments.

Your ears are still ringing when you come back and find yourself slowly collapsing into a spot beside the whimpering Slick. “Goddamn,” you whisper faintly. “Fuck.” Slick shivers and it takes you a moment to realize that’s the best he can laugh under the circumstances. 

“Gotta love making you stop talking fancy,” he croaks.

“Wasn’t you, i’ was your ass,” you dispute thickly.

“Yeah right.”

“You’re a fucking... asshole.”

“Yeah,” he says, voice slurring. “What else is new?”


End file.
